


Look At Us Now

by Librarity



Series: Gobblepotalliance2019 [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arkham Asylum, Bounty Hunters, Gobblepotalliance2019, Guilt, Human Experimentation, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jim is a Little Shit, Jim works for Penguin, Pining Oswald Cobblepot, Season/Series 03, bounty hunter Jim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Librarity/pseuds/Librarity
Summary: An impromptu visit from none other than James Gordon leads to an interesting turn of events.Jim, former guiding light of the GCPD, is now Penguin's Head of Security and Oswald could not be more baffled! But then,  neither could anyone else.  Jim takes security very seriously,  much to the chagrin of the rest of the staff.It is something like a dream come true until everything shatters into pieces at Oswald's feet.Gobblepotalliance2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gobblepotalliance2019!!!!! I'm excited to write for this!  
> The event prompts used are:
> 
> 1\. One surprising the other  
> 2\. Shaking hands with each other  
> 3\. Waiting together  
> 4\. Arguing with each other

There had been a harsh breeze floating around the mansion in the afternoon and once the sun retreated below the horizon, it cooled considerably more. The Van Dahl mansion was often drafty but it was home, regardless, the only home he had left. Granted, while his father was alive, he never noticed it was drafty, only after. It likely had to do with the company before, his father’s aura spreading outward, and now it was cold.

  
Oswald sat in front of the fireplace, swirling his drink in the crystal glass as the flames alternate the color of the liquid inside. He tapped his blunt nails against the glass, willing himself to unwind and not let his mind travel to the darker corners it often liked to drag him when he was alone.

  
Without preamble, Butch barged into the sittng room, his huge frame barely making it through, “Hey, uh, Gordon is here. Wants to see you. What do ya want me to tell him?”

Oswald took a long breath, pulling air into his chest to hold it there for a few seconds, “Did he say why?”

Butch offered a half smirk, increasing the wrinkles in his round face, “Does he ever explain?”

“Did you ask?” Oswald offered a knowing, snide smirk of his own when Butch diverted his eyes to the wall. “Fine,” he offered demurely, “we mustn’t keep a guest waiting. Show him in!”

When Butch lumbered away, Oswald began the arduous mental process of preparing himself to be bombarded by whatever storm Jim brought in on his heels. There was always something clinging onto those wide shoulders of the now former officer of the all powerful law. It might even be worse now that he had no badge.

Jim had never been anything but justice and order, all bottled up until he exploded, doing some things he wished he could take back. Jim liked to pretend those dirty secret never happened but there was no running from them forever. Those secrets probably kept Jim up at night the way memories kept the former Kingpin up. Oswald knew James Gordon better than most people, even better than his partner, or his list of former love interests.

“Oswald.” Jim said his name like a statement in and of itself, like he would state any facts.

It would be a lie to say Oswald’s ocean green eyes did not study the roll of trim hips and the athletic sway of Jim’s torso as he prowled into the room like a panther in leather; that leather jacket did wonderful things for him, it really did. An efficient, well kept instrument that belonged to the law, that was Jim in a nutshell, or it used to be. Things were a bit different from the old ways.

“Hello, James!” Oswald leaned back in his chair, forcing his tight muscles to appear languid, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Jim's shoulders shifted a bit when he stopped, squaring in a typical display of dominance, offering a better display of his chest, "This is a courtesy call."

Oswald could not hold back the expression of surprise nor the suspicion following on its heels, "A courtesy call?"

Jim jerked his chin in a curt nod, "You were right about Fish leading the Arkham escapees." He shifted his weight again and this time Oswald noticed the scrape on his chin and the mark on his cheekbone. 

He resisted the urge to go to the other man and soothe those marks, "Well, thank you for that, but I already knew I was right.  It's not really news."

The wrinkle between Jim's brows deepened, that strong jaw jutting out, "She knows you put a bounty out on her."

Oswald nodded,  spreading his hands to the side in question, "I'm still not following,  I'm afraid. What about this 'news' caused you to come all the way out here?" He made a sweeping gesture toward Jim's person, "As you don't seem to be carrying her head with you, I find it safe to assume you let her get away and aren't here to collect."

Jim planted his feet and put his hands on his hips in a display of absolute exasperation, "Point is, you and Fish have a history already! She's not going to just let that slide, she'll come after you again! But this time she's got Strange's monsters with her. You need to take precautions for that!"

Oswald allowed himself a wry smirk and a small,  intentionally sinister chuckle, "If I didn't know any better, I might think you were worried about me!"

"Oswald," and that was a different tone, irritated, but a hint of worry running through the core, " _you_ should be worried about you! You're making a lot of noise in the media, there is no way either Fish or some of Strange's creatures won't come for you on their own!"

There was a fleeting moment when Oswald wondered if this was something like Jim's sanctimonious offer of a Mea Culpa, "What would you have me do then? Hide myself away in a tower?"

The way Jim looked at him, he almost thought that was exactly what the hope was, "You need a lot more protection. Butch isn't enough."

Jim had no idea what an opening he offered up, and until the words fell out of his mouth, Oswald had no idea if he would rise to it, "Then work for me! Be my head of security..." Jim opened his mouth, clear rejection on his lips, so Oswald proceeded before he could, hitting Jim where he knew it would be most effective, "You are most qualified to protect me, a potential target, as you have been considerably more successful in apprehending them than anyone else. If I am in danger, there wouldn't be a better option than you," he let there be a tiny pause before he lowered what he thought might be the killing strike, letting his eyes lock with Jim's blue ones before he softly offered, "And after all... I know you would never let anything bad happen to me, old friend. We have a history too, so who but you could I trust to protect me?"

Jim stared at him, eyes wide, shoulders hunching and turning rigid. Oswald thought, though he wouldn't swear to it, that Jim's eyes softened a little, turning sad and miserable the longer he stared. Perhaps he was remembering the pier, or perhaps he was seeing the mobster in black and white stripes again rather than in the finery of his tailoring. It would be a lie to say he had not intended to draw Jim's mind to those darker days. It was only fair to remind the other man once in a while.

"You can still collect your bounties," Oswald went on as if he did not notice the lost, almost vulnerable look he was offered, "but I will pay you for your services in addition to what you collect. Of course, once you bring Fish in, you will get that reward too."

Jim was so still, hardly seeming to draw breath, but he finally nodded slowly, voice barely there, "Alright."

"You accept?" Oswald had to ask, just to be sure, as it was difficult to process acquiescence from the man before him.

"I'll..." it was so clear he could not believe the words coming out of his mouth either, "I do accept. I'll start by fixing the mess your men are in tonight." Jim seemed to come back to himself, regaining his footing, "They need to be more organized for their own safety as well as yours. You should think of hiring a few more too. You could always pull from the little mob of followers you have these days."

Oswald smiled benevolently, "I will take that into consideration."

Oswald slid to his feet and stuck out his hand. Jim tilted his head slightly, dog like, eyeing the hand before he tentatively moved closer. They locked eyes a moment before Jim slipped his hand into the one on offer. Oswald squeezed, holding on as Jim curled his fingers around the smaller hand. It always felt like a weighty declaration between them, something deeper in meaning than mere agreement. They did not shake so much as hold their hands in suspension,  feeling the connected skin against skin, until they slid apart again. Jim backed away slowly, carefully, eyes lowering as if in defeat.

"Welcome to my home, James.  ' _Mi casa es su casa_!'" Oswald fairly beamed even though Jim refused to fully look at him, "I must say, it is nice to have a man I know I can trust around. I will,  as you said, 'make it worth your while.'"

Jim nodded, eyes glued directly to the pattern of the carpet, turned on his heels, and marched out. A few minutes later he heard Jim bellowing orders like an old army commander. A few moments after that, Butch was back through the door with an utterly bewildered expression on his face.

Butch just stared at him and Oswald knew he must surely look like the cat that got the cream, which was obviously answer enough for Butch to deduce the validity of the situation. The hulking man looked at Oswald like he might actually be pondering a dive out the window for escape.  _The James Gordon_ worked for him now. 

It was so utterly preposterous that he could only laugh, laugh like a madman, which put Butch even more on edge. Who could blame him for finding it amusing though? Who could ever have seen an event like the GCPD's golden child, the beacon of justice, coming to the other side in a spectacular turn of events? Who in their right mind would have expected James Gordon to go from the GCPD to Penguin's head of security? There was nothing to do but laugh at the utter absurdity of life. It was so surreal that even Oswald doubted it was real. Perhaps this was nothing more than a dream; Jim featured in plenty of his dreams anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim was busy prowling about the estate like he expected a mass invasion at any moment and it almost put Oswald on edge. What put him more on edge for different reasons was Jim himself. That afternoon, as was his habit, Oswald offered Jim a drink. It was customary for the two of them, a simple sort of thing that was almost as much a part of their interactions as saying hello with attitude. Today, Jim looked long at the glass full of amber like a starving man would have looked at a plate of food. That need had never been there any time before when the customary offer was made, and Jim's refusal looked like it physically pained him, but he did refuse. 

Oswald licked his lips, suddenly looking at the man before him with new eyes, "How are the security updates progressing?"

Jim began to rattle off what he had been up to and Oswald further realized that Jim had, in fact, never gone home last night. He was wearing the same clothing from his original entry to the house and the wrinkles in the shirt were the same as before. He had not gone home and he had not slept.

His teeth were put on edge at that realization, because it held unfavorable meaning. Oswald sank heavily into his desk chair, scooting behind the great construction of ornate wood to gain much needed distance.

Jim followed as if Oswald was now a commanding officer. He practically stood to attention on the other side of the desk, though he was more or less relaxed. This was an easy place for Jim, the slot of defender and it was rather clear. It did not distract from the raw truth of the matter though.

Perhaps he should have been taking better notes on Jim's general status before this rather than ogling his figure. Now that he was looking more critically, Jim had lost a few pounds. He looked worn and drawn, wound tight and ready to break. It brought forth the question of "why" and he was unsure he had an answer. He had not been keeping a close eye on Jim lately, too busy with his own issues to worry for the cop. Oswald had an agenda and he had been dedicated to it, but it seemed he had been remiss in ignoring the events circling James Gordon.

He supposed he should have known some drastic things had happened but he more or less assumed Jim had reached a block of some sort after Arkham the way Oswald had, though in different ways. Word had gone around that Hugo Strange got his claws into Jim for a while before Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox escaped with him.

How much had the mad doctor done to Jim? Was that the reason he kept stealing longing looks at the decanter of alcohol? 

Of course,  there was also Jim's time in prison to consider.  The fiasco that occurred with all of that and the shame of it must have done it's own damage. 

Of course,  it clearly had driven Lee out of his life.  Perhaps that had more to do with it,  or it was part of the mix.  In truth,  he should have expected a man like Jim to have difficulty dealing with all those things,  particularly with the way he bottled things up. 

Oswald propped his elbow delicately on the table in order to shield his mouth inconspicuously as he was sure it would give away his mounting displeasure, "It seems you have been quite busy! Is that why you never went home?"

Jim blinked at him owlishly, "I went home."

Oswald offered him an arched look in response.

Jim rolled his eyes skyward, irritation spiking, "What about it, Oswald?"

"Well, for starters, if you haven't slept, how do you expect to be alert enough to protect me?"

Jim curled his upper lip slightly in annoyance, "I'm fine, thanks! If you recall, I used to be an officer and I'm more than a little used to operating on a few hours sleep."

" _Have_ you had a few hours sleep recently, Jim?"

It was the first time Oswald had called him 'Jim' in a while and he obviously noticed but proceeded anyway, "I'm fine, but thanks for the concern."

Oswald was not finished, "Tell me, why _did_ you decide to be a bounty hunter and hand in you precious shield?"

Jim's spine visibly went ridged and he pulled his shoulders to attention to properly stare down into Oswald's eyes, "Because saving Gotham is not my job anymore.  Hunting down Strange's freaks pays the rent money.  Someone else can serve and protect, I did my time."

Actually, that was true.  Jim had his time on both ends of the law; behind a badge and behind bars.  Truthfully,  Jim had taken quite a lot since the first day he joined the GCPD.

Oswald drew a long,  steady breath through his nose, "Is that so?"

Jim tiled his chin in challenge, "It is."

"Well," he struggled to find the right words,  knowing most would only cause Jim to be more defensive, "I suppose it's for the best." But he needed to see a little fight in Jim, "After all,  they never really appreciated you there anyway.  They were always looking for a way to get rid of the one mostly-honest cop in the system."

The look in Jim's eyes was hard to unravel, a warring storm of conflicting emotions, "Yeah,  well, I suppose I've proven I'm less honest than most thought. I'm here,  working for you now,  aren't I?" The smile he offered reminded Oswald of a dog showing it's teeth when it was in trouble. 

"Yes,  well,  you're still serving and protecting... just in my favor,  for a change." He shouldn't goad Jim,  yet he couldn't resist,  but rather than rise to the bait,  he watched Jim's eyes shutter completely. 

One shapely shoulder lifted in a mild shrug, "You always did say it was better to walk with a friend in the dark, right.  I figured,  might as well give that a try."

"Perhaps we could both use a friend right now. Different circumstances have made for stranger alliances." Oswald agreed,  ruining a hand down to squeeze at the throb in his knee. 

Jim's eyes followed the movement,  lingering on his twisted leg,  but he made no comment, "Why not work together?" He sounded like he was trying to convince them both.

"We really have always been stronger together,  old friend." Oswald smiled sweetly, "I'm very happy you excepted my offer."

Jim settled his hands on his hips,  one finger sinking into the waistband,  drawing both Oswald's eyes and mind to that area of interest. "I should get back to it." With that,  Jim turned to leave. 

Oswald nearly tripped over his own tongue to get the words out, "Why don't you join me for dinner tonight? We really might as well considering you have to escort me this evening.  For my safety,  of course."

Jim glanced back,  locking eyes with him; that age old conflict warring within as Jim ran his mind over what to reply,  but after a painful moment of silence that had nearly caused the mobster to wither away, the new head of security offered what vaguely qualified as a smile, "Sure, Oswald."

Oswald watched the retreating figure as he left,  biting down on his lower lip to avoid smiling like an idiot.  He shouldn't take it as a sign,  he shouldn't be pleased.  But for once,  things almost seemed to be going in a decent direction for them. 

If only he could manage to hold onto it this time. 


	3. Chapter 3

Oswald couldn't manage to hold still.  The chair was just the wrong size,  just slightly too long and hit his knee just so.  It was uncomfortable but he could do nothing but sit there and wait for the meeting to be over. 

Normally he would speed it along,  do something to cut off the prattle,  but he was the one that called for the meeting amongst this target area and he selected the venue.  Letting it continue was to his advantage rather than detriment because the longer the frightened group of debutante idiots speculated about what the monsters might do to them,  the more of them there were throwing in with his side of things. 

Get the people to panic and it really was easy to sway them.  Honestly,  though,  they should side with him.  He was trying to help.  Perhaps it was a bit personal but the threat was also a real one to others beyond himself. 

Jim stood stoically off to the side,  the perfect watchdog even among all the other faithful pet muscle around the room.  Jim had things the others did not and an added side serving of reputation to go with it.   The entirety of the room watched him like they might a movie star. Having Jim on his side gave him considerably more credibility. The former officer was everything Oswald needed and a bit more besides. 

While the man was still in the same attire as he had been that afternoon,  he had not changed for the meeting, he still looked like he outclassed every other hired gun in the place. 

James Gordon was on a different level, a considerably higher one.  He was innately better than the typical trash you picked up for this work. He was inherently special.  Someone like him could not normally be bought,  was too rich for the richest to afford, unless he chose to lend his service. Yet Oswald had somehow swayed him after all this time. 

There was nothing overly interesting that happened at the meeting,  just multiple people saying the same things.  No one got violent,  which was a little disappointing as it would have offered him the chance to see Jim in action. 

When it was finally over he grabbed Jim's arm, dragging him out the back way, leaning on him to take the pressure off his leg.  He didn't notice how tense Jim was from the contact until they were nearly to the car.  The moment he noticed,  he dropped his hand away, pulling it in close to his body, trying desperately not to feel the rejection quite so keenly. 

He had not really thought about it before he did it.  It stung to know his mind had already accepted Jim's presence, that he already came to rely on him as if he had always been at his side.  When Jim came to his senses... and walked away again,  he couldn't say how extensive the damage would be.  If he already reached for the man that naturally,  what would he do when there was an empty space where Jim had been?

Jim stared at him a long,  agonizing moment,  eyes raking over his posture, his face, and his leg.  He rolled his shoulders and sniffed,  working up to something, "You don't have to hide it,  you know?"

"Hide what?" Oswald's voice came out considerably more snappy than normal. 

"When you're in pain," Jim relied,  perfectly calm. 

"I'm fine,  but thank you so much for your concern!" Oswald bit out. 

Jim sighed,  distinctly put upon,  and reached for him suddenly,  grabbing his wrist and sending a spark of fear up his spine, "It's fine. I don't mind." He hooked his arm and curled Oswald's fingers over the curve, "I don't mind if you need to lean on me.  You just surprised me."

Oswald  might have stopped breathing for a moment,  too shocked to function for a beat, "Shall we go get something to eat now that we are finally free? I did promise to take you out tonight."

Jim shot him one of those smiles, a special,  rare one that held none of the usual tension, "Sure,  that's a good idea."

Oswald wished he could say that smile didn't make his heart do multiple little erratic loops.  He needed to distance himself quickly,  yet what he did instead was lean in closer,  allowing Jim to support him.  He really was a fool.  His heart was his greatest weakness. 

* * *

If Oswald smiled more than normal,  if he felt almost giddy while he sat across the table from Jim, the gorgeous specimen of humanity that everyone in the restaurant took a long,  appreciative glance at when they walked in,  he would never admit it. 

It might have been entirely thanks to his mother's Victorian romance novels,  but walking in on Jim's arm had done things to him.  Even though he dropped his hand almost the moment they walked in to avoid a scene,  it had not changed the feeling. 

It made him fidgety for different reasons and he could not avoid getting chills. He liked keeping Jim's company,  liked it a lot. 

Jim had eyed the line of stronger drinks on the menu with the same desperate longing he looked at the decanter with.  Oswald ordered first and made it a point to get a lemon water to drink rather than wine like so many other tables. 

There was so much hesitation in the man as Jim opened his mouth to order but what came out was a request,  halting as it was,  for a diet Coke. Admittedly,  Oswald fairly beamed at Jim's choice. 

For the meal end of things,  Jim ordered Rib Eye, while Oswald opted for Fettuccine Alfredo.  Jim's ordering had been engendering, studying the menu in likely the same way he studied a crime report.  It was probably a bad sign for him to enjoy watching Jim execute perfectly mundane activities. 

The talk was idle,  while they waited for their food, essentially meaningless until; "What happened when you saw Fish?"

Oswald blinked at Jim, thrown by the topic shift from weather to his arch nemesis, "What?" 

"You knew she was alive before anyone else.  You said you had seen her,  so what happened?"

Oswald dithered over how much to reveal, "I don't honestly know. I saw her after the bus crashed, saw her face to face.  She was close, unmistakable, enough to simply reach out and touch me. When she did, the world went black and I didn't know anything more until she was long gone."

Jim mulled that information over, "So... she let you live?"

Oswald had no way to answer that, "Perhaps."

"She did.  When I met her, she said as much.  The question is, why did she? You pushed her to her death so she has no reason to spare you."

Oswald tightened his fingers on his cold glass,  trying to ground himself, "I suppose we'll just have to ask her when we catch her! Won't we?"

"It bothers you," Jim deduced blithely. 

"Why would it?" He knew his tone gave him away. 

Jim leaded back in his chair,  casually picking at the smaller man's sanity with words, "It kills you that you don't know why."

"It would drive you mad too,  don't pretend it wouldn't!" Oswald ground out. 

"Of course it would," Jim snapped back, "I'm always suspicious if an enemy offers me a kindness!"

Oswald felt that like a barb whether Jim meant it as an accusation or not. 

Their server hesitated, shifting from foot to foot, their plates balanced in her hands.  It was the nervous little motion that caught both men's attention. As if in sync, they each turned bright smiles on her in order to show all was well and get her to give them their food. She smiled back,  set their plates down with a hurried, "enjoy your meal" and vanished. 

Oswald couldn't even blame her.  Butch, a big,  strong goon,  usually ran the minute he and Jim got into any manner of argument. No one paid a server enough no get mixed up in an argument. 

Oswald twirled the white sauce covered pasta around his fork, "Tell me,  James,  am I your enemy?"

Jim glanced up,  abandoning his carving tasks of his food, "You're my employer. That, as I understand it,  is our arrangement."

Oswald still could not decide how Jim intended any of it to sound but his heart sank all the same, bitter disappointment bubbling to the surface even though he should know better by now, "Yes, it is our arrangement."

Jim was the singularly most confusing man Oswald had ever met in his life! One minute he could be so warm,  inviting,  and even gentle,  but the next minute he could turn ice cold.  How was anyone supposed to know how to deal with that?


End file.
